


Do Ut Des

by Ladylazarus13



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Blood, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Kinktober 2019, Lorcham, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, USS Archangel, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylazarus13/pseuds/Ladylazarus13
Summary: The Terran emperors attempted to bury the Gods and their prophecies in the past. But many remember. Many still follow. And for Lorca, the Gods are still willing to provide...something.





	Do Ut Des

**Author's Note:**

> _Do Ut Des: I give something so that you might give something in return _

Landry was close. This version was maybe even more antagonistic and ruthless than the one in his universe. Lorca could almost admire it if it wasn't an obvious attempt to hide the raw vulnerability. It lurked behind every sharp retort, every quick draw of her phaser. Then came the looks in close quarters. The attempts at a seductive tone, but it all came across distorted. Lorca could hear beneath each flirty phrase for what she was really begging for: "Fuck me. Care about me. Approve of me." 

A few times at the beginning of all this he was tempted. Sink himself into someone and control everything about the encounter. Take what he could get since nothing else would ever match his Michael again. That veracity and command from the battlefield to the bed. Landry would let him do as he liked and beg for the privilege, but it was better to keep her at a distance. Keep her wanting. Because this Landry was as loyal as ever and her desire only seemed to solidify that.

Stamets was a better scientist than his counterpart, Lorca would give him that. But for all his increased brilliance came even more deficiencies. More neurotic, more demanding. Each time Stamets opened his mouth, Lorca could feel his whole body tense. The desire to beat Stamets into submission only increased with every interaction. But compliments and aggressive demands would have to suffice for now. It kept him in line. 

Now the Kelpian was a double-edged sword. He chose Saru the minute his file came across the viewer. There was no point in looking at any other candidates for his Number One. Mr. Saru was the only Kelpian in Starfleet having been granted asylum. His intention at first was to utilize the Kelpian's submissive nature. An easy piece on this massive board to move where Lorca needed. But after a few months, it became clear though that while Saru was maneuverable, he was still perceptive and even more dedicated to the Federation and its ideals than expected. It didn't make it easy, but Lorca respected the Kelpian. Anyone who could rise above their lot to seek glory was worthy of respect, even if it was cattle. 

Lorca had found self-hatred to be a useless emotion. After all, it was an emotion that stemmed from guilt. And why feel guilty for surviving, for being the victor? Then he came to this universe and saw a new perspective. After countless hours familiarizing himself with his shadow's personal logs. Hours and hours of useless ethical contemplation, it grated on Lorca. All the awards in this universe, the details of his shadow's life was pathetic. To see the potential for glory thrown away was too much because Lorca knew what he was capable of. 

It only drove him to greater lengths because he had to return home at any cost. He would rise above this universe like he had done his own. He would sit on the throne as destiny commanded. Never would he become lost and conflicted, forced to follow the ideals of this spineless universe. His Gods would see him through and did just that. A key to deliverance the moment he came across this Michael's file. 

Lorca couldn't prevent the low expectations of this universe’s Michael. It was impossible to imagine. The woman he’d known, twisted and converted into something totally other by this place. Shy and submissive. Every time he was a step closer to getting her on the Discovery, the thought of even looking at such a poor imitation disgusted him. If his Michael had been a blessing from the Gods then this Michael would be so cursed, so base, so human. Not even a Terran. But Lorca was not a man to waste what this or any universe wanted to hand him. If the Gods deemed it fit to take his Michael and grant him this, he wouldn't turn from it. This Michael would be a tool, a means to an end. Nothing more. 

Then she arrived ahead of schedule. Landry with her smirk left Michael standing in his ready room. Her yellow jumpsuit seemed to make her glow. He attempted to continue staring at the stars, but her reflection kept drawing his eye as he spoke. She already seemed too bright even as the lights slowly increased. 

He’d practiced his speech the moment he decided to get her out of prison. The plan was to compliment her. Shower her in praise, mold her until the time was right. Even if this Michael was righteous and idealistic, any version of her would be worth the trouble. It would all pay off. After all, the Gods made sure she didn't die at the Binary. And if his Michael could be so easily killed, then this one survived for a purpose. For the empire. For him. 

But as he continued talking, her eyes caught his. Lorca hadn't expected her brown eyes to have such an affect. The cool play at attempted indifference and the curiosity that made its way to the surface as she studied him. His Michael had never been curious. It wasn't something she displayed. Michael knew her place in the universe and nothing could ever question that. A born leader, ruler of empires, what was there to ask? A messenger of the Gods had no reason to be curious. 

This Michael with her curls astray and her head tilted just so watched him in question. Waited for him. And Lorca didn't expect to lose the rest of his speech. 

"When I saw your name on the shuttle manifest, I...re-read your file, pulled up your court martial transcripts, and...you're something.” 

All the flattery he'd planned lost on his tongue as the curiosity in her brown eyes grew. It distracted him until the only word that came to mind was something. And it was true. She was..._something_. 

* * *

Lorca had never been grateful to anything but the Gods. With all things, it was the determination that secured victory. Brutality persevered, violence sustained. The Gods looked favorably upon it. 

"We are above it. We are the exception," Michael moaned out above him. The words were spoken like a commandment as she rode him. "I love you above all else." 

She always did this. Kept him on edge. Never letting him cum until he begged. One of the rare times Michael smiled was right before she brought herself to a climax on his throbbing cock. Head flung back, her lips parted as she let out a scream. In the intensity of it, her black lacquered nails ran down his chest hard enough to draw blood. The long red marks he admired for days. 

Then it began a new ritual of sorts. Instead of sneaking in his quarters, keeping her guards far away, she wanted to test their loyalty. How fast would they respond to her screams? No one had been good enough so far. There were times he wanted to question it. But it wasn't his place especially when she had her dagger in hand. 

His Michael would stand there in the middle of the room. Still naked with his cum coating her thighs, her back straight and the dagger out of sight as the door pushed open. She would tilt her head up as her guard stuttered in surprise as they all did. Their frantic eyes moved from Lorca beneath his sheets to the heir apparent. The guard would bow deep in apology, but before they could even dare to look upon her again, Michael would pounce. Flipping her dagger quick, the deed done in a flash of silver. The guard's hands would cling to their opened throat. The sounds from their mouth bubbled with blood, bleating like a lamb. 

Then with drops of blood spattered across her, she'd walk slowly back to his bed. The dagger still in hand and ever so gently would wipe it clean using his sheets. A red smear along the fine black silk. 

* * *

The Gods were wise. His Michael had been one of their Risen. Though they had seen fit to end her life, their choice to keep this universe's Michael alive was wise. 

Michael was proving to be brilliant and highly trained. She wasn't Terran, but she was still a cut above the rest. Quick to adapt. A leader who followed logic instead of blind violence. This Michael could go toe to toe with Stamets when discussing the spore drive when no others could. Saru couldn't even deny his high praises for her, though they included one caveat. "She's a mutineer, sir," Saru would say with a slight shake of his head every single time he complimented Michael. 

Almost every night since she came on board, he would sit on his bed contemplating for hours. He would return home. He would have Michael by his side. The emperor would die by their hand. These were facts. Preordained and transcribed in blood by the Gods. His Michael taught him that. But what of this Michael? Could she step into the outline left behind, fit into the Terran way of life? 

It wasn't just the laws and rules that governed the people. It wasn't even knowledge of the Gods. To be Terran, there was something so intrinsic. It sat beneath each Terran's breastplate, wedged in their chest beside their heart. She was lacking something fundamental. Something Terran. Yet of all the shadows he'd come across so far...this Michael was closest to rising above it.

On a night where the crew needed to be on the bridge late into the evening, Michael stood by her console. Lorca couldn't help, but dislike anyone else using it. Taking up the space she left behind and doing a poor job of it. No, the console was hers and when he was on the bridge he made sure she was too. 

Even towards the end of her shift, Michael was still alert, her back ramrod straight. Her eyes roved over some text and typing away with ease. She was a replica of his Michael except...she didn't know. Nothing of the Gods and their purpose. Lorca tapped his lips in thought, his eyes drifting over to her as he considered it. Was it possible to instill that devotion in a Human playing Vulcan?

And as she clicked and tapped away, Michael glanced up and her eyes immediately found his. Caught him. Caught him studying her, measuring her. She tilted her head in question. Somehow the action, that curiosity sent sparks of anticipation through him. Because along with that curiosity came the tiniest of smiles. Those full lips shining with a touch of gloss granted him a smile. 

The burst of want that exploded in his chest was the exact reaction he had when looking upon these stars for the first time. Overwhelming. Fear. Painful. Glorious. The small quirk of her lips could have lit up his entire universe. 

For the last few hours, they continued this dance. Every so often she would peer up through her lashes and catch him studying her and with it came a new rush of heat. She'd stand a little taller and raise her chin ever so slightly in acknowledgment then continue her work.

She wasn't right. She wasn't his Michael, but she was..._something_. 

* * *

The night after this universe’s Michael smiled, he dreamed of her. In her navy uniform, pressed up against the bulkhead on the bridge. All the stations abandoned so that she could wrap her legs around him without an audience. Cling and grind herself against him in just the way he liked. But when Lorca looked up her expression was his Michael's. All ruthless desire and insatiable lust. 

And as soon as the realization came, the dream shifted so they were in his bed on Discovery. He was on top of her, skin to skin, their clothes gone and only that tiny smile dressed her glossed lips. Her gaze became unfocused, her lips parting in a gasp as he entered her. They wouldn't feel different. Not at all. Still the tightest, wettest cunt Lorca had ever had. But this Michael...his Burnham with her soft sounds and curious eyes, kept him close. Wrapped her legs around him tight, crying out in pleasure as they climaxed together. 

The computer’s incessant alarm ripped him up and out of his dream. Sheets twisted around his legs and his cock painfully hard. Out of habit, he reached over to her side of the bed. Fingers skimming, expecting to touch Michael's silky skin. It took a moment for Lorca to realize she wasn't there. Neither of them. 

And Lorca had never felt such gnawing fury when he blinked down at the white sheets, empty and pristine. Not a drop of blood to be found, his or anyone else's.

* * *

On her 30th birthday, his Michael stood on the last step of the dais far below the emperor perched on her throne. The rumor circulating was that today the emperor would finally name Michael as her heir. Any other claims to the throne would be silenced. She’d proven herself over and over. Her battles to protect the empire were becoming legend with each passing day. If he hadn't been part of the original deployment alongside her ship, he'd have agreed with the rumors. Simple fabrications to elevate a stolen child and justify her place. 

But he'd been there when she commanded the armada at the Binary. First came the 500 enemy battle cruisers destroyed within an hour. Then came their home planets. The ones that could generate new resources for the empire were spared. The other planets did not share the same fate. He stood from his captain's chair and would have pressed his face to the glass as Qo'noS burned. Brighter than any star in the dark trenches of space, it still filled him with awe. A few of his followers who had also witnessed it whispered of the prophecy. A fierce woman surely, but lead the Terran empire to a new era? A holy and physical elevation of Terran life? If she wasn't so stuck in her mother's shadow, Lorca would have agreed with them. Instead, he'd rolled his eyes. 

For he felt it in his bones, knew it as well as his own name what his purpose was in this world. It was Lorca’s destiny to stand on that dais. Not a woman willing to keep bowing steps below her old mother. An emperor draped in gold and falsehoods adding new lies even now. The emperor announced that it was her leadership that won them resources in the Beta Quadrant. It was with her blessing that Qo'noS was now a burning husk in the middle of space. 

Lorca took a sip of wine and watched the slow unclenching of Michael’s fists. Her face remained neutral as she was awarded the I.S.S Shenzhou. For all her “efforts” in assisting the Terran empire. This was escalating beyond an insult to something catastrophic. Michael’s temper was well known, would this be the day she turned her dagger on her own mother? Instead, Michael bowed. Shrunken and low as her knee came to rest on the bottom step of the dais. 

For a moment, Lorca hated her for it. This woman could only be a puppet with just a few strings uncut, not autonomous at all. To not even demand her right and willingly accept mere scraps from an overabundant table. It was a level of disrespect and pettiness he hadn’t expected even of the emperor. He had also been promised command of that ship years ago. The Buran was a good ship but older than the Shenzhou. It had more black scorch marks across its hull than any other in the fleet. Lorca deserved a better one. 

But his esteem for Michael grew again when she slid her dagger between Captain Rigtor's ribs. The fool made a backhanded remark to infer that she didn’t deserve even the Shenzhou. 

Rigtor was dead by the fifth wound in his back, but she didn’t stop until there were thirteen in total. Blood splattered across the table. Lorca’s heart hammered in his chest as he counted each move of her arm. Thirteen. One to represent each of the Gods. Was it possible that she was a believer? The large bowl full of soup sitting in the center of the table was now pinker due to Rigtor's contributions. 

The room sat in silence as Michael wiped the dagger clean on the tablecloth. Every eye was now on the emperor. Waiting for violence, for some response. But her mother simply tsked as if admonishing a child for drawing outside the lines. The nervous dignitaries tittered along. One even made a show of eating the now tainted Kelpian soup. Motivated by fear, the others followed suit. It could be an insult not to eat the emperor's selection even with drops of Rigtor in it. 

The emperor did not eat in public, refusing to show her mortality. Gabriel filled his bowl as did Michael, but neither lifted their spoons. 

The three of them sat silent as the others slurped and Rigtor continued to bleed on the table. The Kelpians waited in the far corners of the room. Waiting to serve, watching scum eat their boiled young. 

Lorca's desire to change the empire had never been stronger until that night. 

* * *

Lorca lashed out at everyone and everything. The act of playing Starfleet fell to the wayside. The "good" captain tucked away. His response to a ship in their vicinity was to destroy it before a comm channel could even be opened to negotiate. His response to Stamets was a stare so cold the pompous idiot got the message and continued his work without a fight. Even Saru gave him a wide berth. Landry's death was both a blessing and a curse. Because if she was alive, he'd have finally given in to her.

The dreams of Michaels didn't stop that night. No, they had continued. Endless and unnerving. At first, they were a mix of his Michael, but now it was just this one. The Gods cursed him to mourn for one lover and crave for one with her same face. 

But she was no emperor. She was not destined.

They were no closer to solving the spore drive. It did the job, they could leap across this universe in .03 seconds. But it couldn't leap to another universe. His research about how he arrived here was fruitless. Maybe this was all a nightmare. One of the hells not found in their holy book. A hell with a new coat of paint. 

And then she showed up in his ready room. 

The conversation was at first stilted. This Michael can be charming and flattering when necessary to stay on task. He'd heard all about it from Saru when she'd used him to test the Tardigrade. Which was not the task he gave her, but worked out in the end. 

She wasn't designed to be an emperor. His emperor. But their Gods didn't make mistakes. Lorca only needed to see it through and discover what the possible solution was. After awhile, Michael finally got to the point of her visit.

"Sir, You have been on edge with everyone."

"And this concerns you why, Burnham?" Lorca cracked one of his fortune cookies in half. Others would have flinched at his tone. Not his Burnham though. 

Michael studied him and he had to quell the rush of heat that followed. Finally, she replied with the same calm voice. "The universe hates waste. Your behavior is creating issues. There was a high boost in morale after we fixed the spore drive. Now it's as low as ever."

"I'm fighting a war--," Lorca began, but she didn't let him finish.

"And you will end up doing it alone if you don't at least act civil. You hate waste and will regret this. Their potential is being wasted and you're jeopardizing their lives. Our lives. "

They stood staring at each other. The moment stretched out and was ready to snap back at any moment. Without a word, he pushed the bowl of fortune cookies towards her. Her gaze flitted to it then back to him before tentatively picking up one. He couldn't help but notice her lack of nail polish as she reached into the bowl. Her nails weren't filed to talons like his Michael's or polished black. But they could still dig into his back. Leave marks across his skin. 

Her thanks was met with a grunt as she broke the cookie in half and turned toward the door. Lorca should have just let her leave so he could relax. Stop thinking about her in this room and on his desk with her legs spread. But instead, he asked her, "If everyone is so traumatized by my tactics, why would you put yourself in my line of fire? This isn’t your problem. I hadn't even glanced at you."

Michael's head tilted in thought before answering."Yes...I had noticed that which is why I'm here." Lorca's heart hammered in his chest when she treated him with that soft, small smile of hers. “Good evening, sir.”

Then she stepped out of his ready room, the door sliding behind her. 

* * *

On a desert planet forsaken by the Gods, Lorca was fighting for his life. With a sand storm so intense no one could beam up, the rest of the Terran soldiers were hiding or dead. The few with him were already buried in the sand. The three Andorians that found him were fierce fighters. He'd taken down one, but the other stabbed him in the side. He laid bleeding out in the sand when she arrived. At first, Lorca thought he was delirious when he saw the glint of her gold armor. But Michael's phaser rifle left real gaping, burning holes in the now dead Andorians. 

The sand continued to gust, blurring his vision. The blood loss wasn't helping and after a long, slow blink he realized Michael was trying to hoist him up. 

"No, leave me," Lorca croaked out. At least he thought he did, but she didn't respond. Michael continued to drag him through the sand. So he repeated himself again and again until she finally responded.

Her voice was strained with effort, but her replying laugh was mirthless. She'd gotten him through the flaps of a tent until a cot came into view and she let him drop. 

"If you have enough energy to talk, climb up on the bed yourself."

It could have been hours or days, but when he woke again, he found Michael in the dim light, a lantern set on a table between them. He was naked, his wounds dressed, and he struggled to sit up. 

Instead of handing him water she blinked over at him, continuing to sharpen her dagger with a piece of flint. The ruby in the handle glinted in the candlelight.

"Someone should do that for you." He croaked, the words fading in and out like a message through a bad signal. His lips were cracked, throat parched. He glanced from her to the jug of water resting on a table out of reach. His hands shook with the effort to gesture towards it. 

When she replied she sounded exactly like her mother and he hated it. Yet it was sound advice. "Only a fool would allow someone else to sharpen their weapons." 

"Water," Lorca said, ignoring the rest of what she was saying. Then he attempted again, pointing towards the jug. 

She sat back in her chair, ignoring him in return. Michael continued to sharpen the blade and then ever so gently pressed her index finger into the tip. A bead of blood rose to the surface. 

He looked over at the water again. But instead of getting it she smiled, no joy in her eyes. Hummed in that way of hers and placed her bleeding finger to his cracked lips.

Her eyes narrowed then her expression changed. In the light of the lantern, in the deliriousness of his state, he thought he'd seen a halo around her head. The light above her like a crown. This was a holy sacrament and with that realization he finally took her finger into his mouth and sucked. The fresh taste of copper mingling with what was already dried on his tongue.

"You'll take what I give you when I give it to you. Without question," Michael whispered softly. Lorca's eyes were no longer on the jug, but trained on her. 

He could only nod in response, desperately trying not to fall back to sleep from exhaustion and his injuries. But Lorca hadn't dreamed of this. No, she leaned over and kissed his red tinged lips. Kissed his sweaty face, across his stubble as gently as the Butcher of the Binary Stars could make it. 

* * *

It was on the Buran that he confronted her about the incident. While he was unconscious, Lorca was shipped back to his crew with strict orders. One of Michael's personal guards, Landry, escorted his prone body and stayed to protect him. Even with orders from the heir apparent, two of his crew made an attempt on his life. They assumed he was too injured to fight back and slipped into his quarters at the first opportunity. Their limp corpses shot out of an airlock was almost as satisfying as the message it sent to his crew. No other attempts were made on his life as he recovered. 

A month passed with no word from Michael and no updates on when Landry would be leaving. Ever since the assassination attempt, she hung around him as if he were a child. He wanted her off his ship and he wanted answers. Michael's silence to every message was only fueled his resentment. 

Then there she was in all her golden glory. She'd boarded his ship without his authorization and was now setting up quarters for a brief stay. While all things of the empire would be hers, Michael walked this ship as if it was hers now. Commanded his crew as if it were hers now. It raised every irritation he’d felt since the moment she’d saved him on that hell hole of a planet. 

This was his fucking ship. Every security code, every lock belonged to him. The quarters she'd chosen we're no exception. Lorca decided to greet her on his own terms. After unlocking her room, he took a seat in a corner off to the side, his legs splayed in a posture of dominance. He was foolish to think it would work because when Michael walked in, there was no surprise. 

She merely glanced at him before pulling off her breastplate. "I've killed for less as you've seen. What do you want?"

The armor dropped to her feet and the screech of metal against the metal on her boot made Lorca's skin crawl. 

He cleared his throat and found his mouth dry, his lips tingling. Every question disappeared the moment her fingers began playing with the clasp of her jacket. Opening, closing, opening, closing. The snap of it reverberated through him until the desire to see everything consumed him. It twisted inside until something unrecognizable took its place. Something more pressing and burning than lust. And the answer that wiggled its way up and out of his mouth could have got him killed. 

"You." And he gestured to her outfit. "Just you. Please continue."

Michael's stare dug into him, her hand paused on the clasp until she moved to the next one and snapped it open. Then her clothes found a new home on the floor as she stood naked in the center of the room. Lorca had never been harder in his life, but he didn't make a single move. He stayed right where he was and watched as she climbed up on the bed and let her legs spread wide. 

They sat for a long time, neither moving. Michael watched him, not with boredom, not with fury, but expectation in her eyes. As if this were something inevitable and like a man possessed he found himself at the edge of the bed and on his knees. A thought quickly passed through his mind as his fingers ran up her glorious legs. If she wanted to, she was strong enough to wrap them around his head and snap his neck. The thought was strangely exhilarating.

Placing his hands lightly on her silky thighs, he stared down at her glistening folds, all wet and waiting. Then and there he took his second sacrament and buried his tongue between her legs. 

After it was done, Michael laid against his chest. Her fingers tracing unseen patterns up and down his torso, running along the scars. Finally, he asked the question he'd wanted to all along: "Why?"

He hissed when her nails dug into his still healing side. "Because I wanted you. Or I'd have killed you" 

"No. That's not...no, why did you save me?"

"Save you?" Michael laughed, the same mirthless one still ringing on that desert planet. Lorca could only nod in response. 

"To live under _this_ empire is no salvation. I didn't save you. If I wanted to do that I’d have left you for dead." The cold smile on her lips made him shiver. "No, I heard the way you spoke about my mother. About the empire.” 

She continued her voice low, whispering a secret while her nails pushed into his skin until he hissed. “I even heard you speaking of the forbidden...the Thirteen."

“The emperor? Only to praise, of course," Gabriel replied, his mind whirling. He glanced across the bed to take inventory of their uniforms and weapons. Everything was accounted for, he needed to stay relaxed. Even naked, this woman was too dangerous and in a few seconds later she showed him just how true that was. 

“No. Quite the opposite. Don’t play me for a fool.” In a flash, she had one hand tight around his throat, like a viper with an unhinged jaw clamped on its prey. Her other hand tugged his hair until his head snapped back forcing him to meet her eyes. He couldn’t hold back the groan from his throat and her smile turned to one of amusement. Her hand tightened until he could barely breathe and it didn't deter his renewed erection. Even with all his ambition, if this was the way he would die, it was a good one.

Before he could act, attempt to fight back, Michael continued, “I kept you alive because I agree. Her days of ruling are numbered. I saved your life and now it belongs to me." Her grip loosened enough for him to gasp for air. "You will not die until I tell you. You are needed for a greater purpose...their purpose."

With her hand still clutching his hair in a vice grip, he had a choice. Topple her to the ground, find a balance between real and mock outrage. Deny and slither his way out of this. But instead, he wrapped his arms around her. 

It could have been a mistake. Some ploy to reveal his loyalty to the old ways. To the Gods of Thirteen. How or why this happened he didn't know. How he found this woman in his arms he didn't know. But then he decided to take what the Gods had given him and without a thought, Lorca took his final sacrament. 

His lips met hers and then only then did destiny click into place. 

* * *

"Captain! Captain!" Lorca could make out Burnham's muffled voice through the steel. Moments later, the ground shook beneath him. The loud bang of the prison door crashing to the floor only added to the ringing in his ears. Moving his head hurt, but he had to watch her. Michael was a sight to behold. Her navy uniform torn, Klingon blood streaked across it.

With her phaser in hand, her eyes scanned the room before holstering it. Lorca had to appreciate the dimness of his cell because he could finally see clearly now. In seconds she was by his side, uncaring that her knees were resting in a pool of his blood. 

"Sir, where are you injured?" Her voice was as steady as always, but he could see the worry etched on her face. Lorca felt another tug in his chest and a part of him wanted to laugh. This was all it took to get at the human part of her. It was as simple as dying in a Klingon prison cell. 

"Same damn place as before," he groaned out. The concern on Michael's face only grew and Lorca realized he'd slipped up. What did it matter when it took all his effort to keep his eyes open. For a moment, he just forgot. 

The open concern on her face was enough. The dual Michael was back, the navy uniform of this universe, but only his Michael would care this much. Yet, as her hands patted along his side, he knew the hand now coated with his blood is Burnham. It was far too gentle to ever be the touch of his Michael. 

"Burnham. Where's your back up?" He asked as Michael tore her jacket and pressed it hard to the gaping wound making him hiss. 

She shook her head, ignoring the question as she used her other hand to wave a tricorder wand over him. It pinged in rapid succession. The results showing massive blood loss, a large laceration, and the bones he already knew were shattered. 

Lorca forced a bit more strength into his voice because he wanted an answer. "Burnham, tell me."

"Lt. Keller didn't make it." Her voice was low and held a hint of sadness. Even as a Vulcan, she was still so expressive."Unfortunately sir, we can't get to the Discovery. Something is blocking the transporter signal but I've set up a relay and hopefully..."

That was one of the differences between this one and his. This one felt the need to explain herself, all science and technobabble. It was how she proved herself, showed her worth. It was that type of universe. Lorca would blame it on being delirious. Blame it on his past. Blame it on being without her for so long, but his hand reached up of its own accord and cupped her face. A trace of his smeared blood was stroked along her cheekbone. 

Michael went still, her eyes wide and alarmed. She moves the tricorder wand from the wound near his stomach to his head. Assuming that's another injury and a scratchy chuckle made its way out of his throat. 

"I might die," Lorca said as if that was the only explanation. And maybe it was as his thumb ran over her soft lower lip that trembled. Then he realized her whole body was trembling. 

"No, I won't let you." And for a minuscule of a second, he was sure she kissed his thumb. Reaching up she placed her hand over his and squeezed. "You are not going to die here. I promise you that."

And that's all he needed to hear. 

* * *

The beeping of the monitors pulled Lorca to consciousness first. Then it's the warm hand in his that made him open his eyes. Sickbay was empty except for them and the privacy shield she must have put up. 

Michael's hand was gently holding his, but in sleep, she wasn't able to keep her grip tight. Her head was near his forearm, wisps of her curls tickling his skin as she breathed in deep and slow. There was no way this was comfortable, but still, here she was. 

If this was anyone else, Lorca would have killed them for such impertinence, cover be damned. But it's Michael, his Burnham, and that makes all the difference. In the dim of sickbay, the hazy light of the privacy shield seemed to create a glow around her. 

Now it was his turn to be curious. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep, and squeezed her hand gently. In seconds, she was up. 

"Sir," Michael whispered. His only response was to keep his breathing steady because his curiosity only grew. Then he felt her kiss the back of his hand. The faintest brush of her soft lips against his skin.

And that's when Lorca decided she would stay by his side. His Burnham was far from Terran, but she could rise above it. This Michael could rule with enough guidance. With his strong hand to steer, they could bring a new age to Terrans together. The Gods gave him this second chance and he would not squander it.

This Michael was not the same, but she was certainly...something worth keeping. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Well that was kinda dark! I wanted to explore Lorca's speech and the way he said Michael was "something." Of course this one shot took on a mind of it's own, but it was interesting to look at a possible religious aspect playing a part in Lorca's actions. This fic is unrelated to Part 2 of Three Nights in Paradise which will be coming soon-ish. 
> 
> 2) "The formula do ut des ("I give that you might give") expresses the reciprocity of exchange between human being and deity...The gifts offered by the human being take the form of sacrifice, with the expectation that the god will return something of value, prompting gratitude and further sacrifices in a perpetuating cycle." - from [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_ancient_Roman_religion#do_ut_des)
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this one shot in the comments below! I look forward to reading them! :D


End file.
